Terminal Five

It was hard enough saying good-bye. Despite my whining about the weather, the place had become familiar and dear, and I’d found new friends that I’d grown fond of, and then there was that whole business of the daughter-who-lives-so-faraway. It was raining, of course, and I knew that there would be many of these parting moments in the years to come -- our pattern would be long separations interspersed with intense togetherness, no casual and spontaneous visits in the foreseeable future. But I tried to focus on the compensatory gifts: firsthand knowledge of the girl's happiness on her own divergent path, and a new point, a real one, in my personal locus of places.

We hugged in the rain and Monte and I boarded the bus for Heathrow. There were a lot of people traveling.

“Welcome aboard," said the driver, "and to those of you going to Terminal 5, my sympathies.”

That didn’t bode well.

Terminal 5 is the spanking new British Airways hub, an ultra-modern wavy glass building five stories high built between two runways and covering an area the size of Hyde Park. On their website, British Airways describes the creation of the 8.6 billion dollar terminal as a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us to redefine air travel." Their stated aim is to "replace the queues, the crowds, and the stress with space, light, and calm.” Sounds pretty good. Officially opened by the Queen two weeks earlier, Terminal 5 had begun operations just yesterday.

That's when Terminal 5 suddenly became synonymous with ‘chaos’, a word used in every news report about its opening day. Flights were cancelled, the baggage handling system was suspended, passengers were stranded for hours, some while sitting on board planes, and staff was missing in action as they wandered in search of the employee parking lot or were stopped at security or were unable to access the single elevator out of eighteen that was functioning. It must have been heartbreaking for all involved.

"This was definitely not British Airways' finest hour," admitted CEO Willie Walsh.

So as you can imagine, we were apprehensive about what we were about to face.

And there it was, an apparition in glass and steel. The bus pulled up, almost grazing the wing-like awnings that extended from the curbs as shelters.

“Sorry about the rain, folks, but we're not supposed to get too close to those awnings because they’re so low,” said our cheeky driver. “So basically the bus can't go near the bus shelter -- how’s that for brilliant planning? The stupidity begins before you even enter.”

Holding our breath, we entered, expecting teeming masses of disgruntled travelers, but finding a relatively open uncrowded area where we were able to do a quick electronic check-in. We boldly sent our bags on their way at the “fast-check” counter, hoping to see them again in L.A. Next, we went through a surprisingly well-organized and efficient security.

And then…well, then…we were in a sort of shopping mall, a huge, glitzy, shopping mall.

A woman handed us a glossy silver booklet.

“Terminal 5 is amazing,” it said on the inside cover, “and you’re among the first to experience it. Let us help you find what you’re looking for – from cameras to cocktails and fragrance to fashion. Here’s your essential guide to Terminal 5.”

Cameras? Cocktails? Fashion? Weren’t we just planning to board a plane?

But there was a Tiffany’s here, and Prada, and Gucci, and Bulgari, and Dior, to name a few. A woman in a white apron was stirring chocolate, and make-up girls in tiny skirts were applying eyeliner, and salesmen at Nokia were touting the latest electronics. You could buy a limited edition Paddington bear with an exclusively numbered suitcase or order a cake before flying out to collect on your return. On the chance that consumers might be overwhelmed by all the prospects, 'shopping ambassadors' dressed in green were stationed around the terminal to guide and encourage them. Hungry? Food places included a caviar house, a donut shop, and everything in between.

Meanwhile, a circle of British Airways staff in black suits were gathered in a corner for strategy and pep talk. It appeared that everyone had been instructed to smile through the crisis -- even the clerk where I bought a pack of gum pleasantly asked me where I was going.

A paramedic pedaled by on a bicycle ambulance and a pair of policemen strolled about nonchalantly with rather formidable-looking automatic weapons in hand.

It was spacey and light all right, but 'calm' is not a word that came to mind. It had the feeling of a bizarre big name bazaar, a futuristic carnival gone awry, a shining shrine to consumerism.

A yellow sign pointed to Toilets and a Multi-Faith Room; the latter aroused my curiosity, so I headed off to find it. Indeed, away from the glare and the glint and the glut there was a small quiet room with a purple rug and a couple of chairs for those who might care to pray or meditate between purchases.

To reach our gate we were directed down to the automated transit system for a three-minute whoosh to the B area. The train arrived, dislodged passengers from the other side, and sat there for awhile with the doors near us sealed. Everyone stood in silence and bafflement but eventually the doors opened and we entered and were taken to our stop for an escalator ride up to the gate area.

I kept waiting for the chaos, but other than a confused boarding queue and a delay in take-off -- "I apologize for our lack of progress," said the pilot -- things proceeded uneventfully. We were lucky, and not among the weeping and the stranded, which gives me the luxury to be philosophical about all this now.

You see, I admire grand plans and lofty aspirations, and I empathize with the disappointment felt when things don't go as dreamed, and I hope disappointment never brings dreaming to a halt.

And I'm glad to see mention of environmental considerations in the silver guide to Terminal 5 and respect whatever green measures were taken, but isn't it strange and incongruous? Because it's all about selling -- just more and more stuff in a world crammed with stuff. I think we know by now that a new ideal is called for, one of less and small, one of fundamental change rather than expansion and consumption. It's the kind of change that's going to hurt a bit, but there are lives to be lived beyond our own.

I apologize for our lack of progress...

On the other hand, I'm pretty grateful that I can wake up in a house in England and twenty hours later be at my own door in California.

So I know we are capable of miracles.